knew for a fact that she didn’t read the paper anymore, that she rarely watched the news. That the least criminal behavior triggered her paranoia, when she was struggling so hard to recover.
But what if she had heard and was frightened? Lying in bed wondering why he hadn’t been the one to inform her a copycat had left White’s signature?
Would Lisa call him if she knew?
He’d left his number, told her countless times to phone him if she needed him.
Had hoped that she might so he could hear that soft, sultry voice of hers.
God, you’re sick. As if you’d have something to offer.
You’re Brad Booker, a bastard child. A man who’s seen the most abysmal side of life. A man who’s killed without blinking twice.
A man who should have protected her but let her down.
The clock chimed midnight, the hours ticking by a constant reminder that another victim might be taken any minute. That this case was a chance for him to redeem himself in the eyes of his superiors. He’d been walking a tightrope ever since the White disaster. And this time he had to toe the line. Prove the hard-edged agent was still in control. Methodical. Able to compartmentalize. Stay detached.
Reeling with frustration, he climbed from bed, wiped at the perspiration on his neck and opened the French doors of his cabin, aching for the quiet lull of the lake outside. The heat blasted him, though, insects swarming on the patio, being fried by the insect zapper he’d hung from the railing. He watched them dive toward it, circle the light, be drawn to its brightness. Then he heard the sizzle as they met their death.
Just as he would ruthlessly take down the killer.
As he’d done before.
What would Lisa think if she knew about his past?
He shook off the thoughts. The case was all that mattered.
The first Grave Digger, White, had chosen all brunettes. That is, until Lisa. But Lisa’s abduction had been about revenge. Silencing her for reporting him to the police. Not the same motive as the others.
The first victims had fit the same profile, had all been grad students in their twenties. Brunettes just like White’s mother.
Grave Digger #2 had started with a brunette, too, although she wasn’t a student. She was a professional. Would this new guy deviate even more from the pattern as time progressed?
The mangy mutt that hung around the lake stood near the woods, his skittish gaze connecting with Brad’s. The poor dog looked more like a lone wolf in the shadows, his gray coat matted and nasty. He had obviously been abused and would hardly come near Brad, which was fine with him. He didn’t want or need anyone depending on him.
Still, from time to time he left food and water on the porch so the damn dog wouldn’t starve.
He’d forgotten tonight. The dog hadn’t.
Of course, the animal looked as if he’d expected it would come to this. That Brad would let him down.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Brad went to the kitchen, retrieved the dog food, then brought it to the back porch, filled the bowl and put clean cold water in another. His cell phone trilled, and he tensed, his hand hesitating before he shoved the dog food bag inside and grabbed the phone off the end table. Just as he feared, Ethan’s number appeared. He clicked in. “Yeah?”
“He has another victim,” his partner said, deadpan. “That reporter, Nettleton, called it in.”
Brad shut the French doors, yanking on his jeans and a shirt. “I’m sure Nettleton’s eating up the story just like the first GD case.”
“Yeah, and Booker, you’re not going to like it.”
He was reaching for his gun, but froze, clenching the phone with a white-knuckled grip. “Lisa Langley?”
“No, Mindy Faulkner.”
God, no. Brad staggered backward, a sick feeling in his stomach. He’d met Mindy when he’d questioned her at the hospital after White had died. She was an E.R. nurse, but she hadn’t been on duty that night. He’d dated Mindy a few times after White’s trial. Had thought by sating himself with another female he’d forget this insane lust toward Lisa.
It hadn’t worked.
But Jesus, he didn’t want Mindy dead or suffering, either.
His gut clenched as he jammed his gun in his holster and rushed to his car, the reality of his job returning, reminding him of another reason he didn’t get involved with women. Being close to him put them in danger.
Was the killer someone he knew? What if he’d chosen Mindy because of him?
HER SHRILL CRIES shattered the peace he craved, the screeching sound echoing off the concrete walls and boomeranging through the ventilation.
She had been crying all night.
Scratching at the walls. Beating on the floor. Howling like an animal.
As if she thought someone might hear.
A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. If she only knew that her attempts were wasted. Futile. That she was so far away from another house that no one would ever know she was here. Not unless he wanted them to….
A sharp pain splintered through his head, and he gripped his temple, doubling over, rocking back and forth to stem the mind-numbing intensity.
What was wrong with him?
He’d been sick before, had his share of medical problems and doctors, but he’d never had headaches before. Never felt this excruciating agony.
Yet he was emboldened by the pain. Empowered just knowing that life and death were both only a heartbeat away.
The air in his lungs grew tight, and he wailed in anguish, the blinding fury that drove him erupting as he tore down the steps. He stumbled. Hit the edge. Grabbed the rail for security.
Another shrill scream pierced the air, reverberating through his head, slicing into his skull as if knives were carving into his brain matter, digging through the frontal lobe and picking at his cerebrum.
He cursed, bile rising in his throat as another scream rent the air. She wouldn’t shut up.
Not unless he made her.
The pain in his head intensified, throbbing relentlessly. He grabbed his skull, sweat pouring off his body as a dizzy spell nearly overtook him. It was so damn hot he needed a drink of water. It was almost as if the heat had sucked the life from him, clouded his brain, dried out all his senses.
A litany of curse words flew from his tongue, vile and loathing comments on mankind in general, especially women. He hated his weakness.
Didn’t she know that he couldn’t take it? That he needed rest. Quiet. Time for the medication to settle.
That without
